Into the Mist
by synpitou
Summary: Many a person often wonders "Who am I?" at some point in their life. And despite what others say, the only person who can really answer that question is the person who asked it. OC/Reincarnation
1. Introduction

_Life is fickle._

 _Sometimes one lives a long, fulfilling life. Other times that long life is unfulfilling, and other times life is very short. And sometimes one's life expands beyond one plane of existence – though usually not without that existence fading away in one plane before moving on to the next. What one does with their life though – that's up to them._

 **.x.X.x.**

 _ **Into the Mist**_

 _ **Introduction**_

 **.x.X.x.**

There was a certain feeling that came with dying and then subsequently being reborn, and it was bittersweet. On one hand you got a new life, a new chance – on the other, it mean you had _died_. It was almost like a less malicious, unintentional version of 'The Invasion of the Body Snatchers'. There was also an impossible to ignore thought of 'Whose body did I snatch?' to go along with the theme. Because it sure as hell wasn't meant to house my cheating-ass spirit.

Or maybe it was, but without past memories intact.

Because I was certain I could do without those – it was hard enough being dead, it was harder remembering why and what I had left behind.

I was fifteen and an athlete before I had died. To say I was a bit of a bitch would be true as well – it came with being awkward and having a bit of a temper, really. I had a bad filter when it came to my mouth, both in the sense that I tended to over-share and in the sense that I said things I probably shouldn't – especially when I was angry. And it was my mouth that had ultimately gotten me shot.

There had been a boy at my school – rather annoying, a bit of a loser – and not many people liked the poor guy. In the end I had tried to not be purposefully mean to the kid, but he had decided that, somehow, that meant we had a chance of getting together. He kept asking and asking and I had snapped, something along the lines of –

"Why the _**hell**_ would I ever date you? You're annoying, not that good looking, and I am not interested and never will be, you _**freak**_."

Apparently enough had happened that week that he just couldn't stand it anymore, so he took his dad's handgun and went after not only me but at least two others (from what he had said, and from what I had caught in my fear-stunned state). It was painful, to say the least, and I was absolutely sure that I wanted nothing to do with guns ever again – it wouldn't be easy to be face to face with one after that, I was sure.

And another thing was for sure – reincarnation was not easy. You started of incoherent, vaguely aware but yet not aware – it was an overload of information that a small body and immature mind couldn't handle without pushing back the older conscience at least a bit. Plus, the language thing was _not_ easy to grasp when the only language one knows is English and very broken high school Spanish and the language one was set to learn was _Japanese_.

Suffice it to say that as a toddler, my Japanese was not where it really should be for my age and my pronunciations were off (I was quite proud of myself, my mother on the other hand was _not_ ). The fact was that while one might think being mature in mind and more aware would be a good thing – it most certainly was not; it was actually a hindrance. My native tongue that I remembered (and could speak but didn't – because, _oh_ , what a can of worms that would open) was English and learning a second language was _hard._ A child had it easy with learning a language compared to an adult; they grew up around it, with it being the only language spoken and only one they knew. Adults already knew a whole language and depending on the person had either an easier or harder time learning a new one, no matter how much they might want to learn it.

It was something that frustrated me, but it seemed to frustrate my mother more.

"Is sending that child to school even viable?" My mother pursed her brightly painted lips. "Nobuo, it would make us look bad – her pitiful speech."

Nobuo, my step-father that replaced the father I had only vague memories of, as he had died when I was barely three. A man that was nice enough – not mean, but not friendly either – to me, which was more than could be said for my dear, dear mother. A man that mother had wasted no time in getting married to barely a year after her first husband's death.

He let out a long, suffering sigh, a hand running through his dark hair. "Get her a home tutor until her speech gets better, then."

"There is no other choice, really." The gaze of her deep, amethyst eyes felt almost cutting as I made a show of innocently knocking some blocks around. "Tutors can be so expensive though – really, Nagi, what a burden you've turned out to be. I do hope you are at least intelligent."

 _Yeah, well, fuck you too, mother dearest._

 **.x.X.x.**

Having a tutor turned out to not be such a bad thing in the long run – I'd gotten off lucky with a really nice one, instead one the horror story tutors who were rude and much too stern. Matsuoka Yuki was kind to a fault – and sometimes overly oblivious, if I was being honest – and had been an immense help in terms of my vocabulary in the last two years (my pronunciations were slower going). Though even she couldn't do anything about my horrible calligraphy – I just wasn't suited for the Japanese writing style after a life time of the English writing system.

"Ara, you've been doing so well, Nagi-chan!" Matsu-sensei smoothed out some of the completed worksheets. "I'm sure you'll be joining the other kids at school soon!"

"Neh, but Nagi-chan will miss Matsu-sensei." What I didn't say was that mother probably wasn't too keen on the idea of having me 'go public' with my pronunciation still not its best. It was an odd sort of accent, with a lot of 'y' sounds and over annunciations.

Not like I'd ever been surprised by the fact – I hadn't learned any foreign languages before, bar two years of high-school Spanish.

"Oh, my cute little darling, Matsu-sensei will miss you too!" Her messily painted nails (courtesy of me) patted the seat next to her. "But I want Nagi-chan to get the chance to make friends."

I blinked up at her with my obnoxiously large eyes. "But Matsu-sensei is Nagi-chan's friend."

The brunette woman practically melted, and I felt both pleased and a little disgruntled with my ability to make most adults melt like butter. My eyes were large and round and a deep amethyst that just glistened; they were the perfect complement to my more rounded face – and the combination made me look so innocent. This was both a positive and negative in my book – on one hand, I could get away with almost anything so long as the person in charge wasn't my mother; on the other it made me look so… so not _me_. Purple eyes, no matter how pretty, weren't _normal_.

"Friends _your_ age, Nagi-chan."

"They'll just make fun of me!" And I'd beam them, but, you know.

She waggled a finger. "And why would they do that?"

"Because of my talkin' and my hair."

"Nagi-chan shouldn't be so scared." I wasn't, really – well, not all that much. "Your hair is very pretty – I'm sure there will be many a jealous girl."

Which was usually not a good thing – kids could be mean, and little girls could be _vicious_. Though it really didn't matter much to me, because I could defend myself just fine (and I wasn't sensitive about my hair; it was pretty – a nice shade of deep purple, like my eyes. And, again, _not normal_ ). It was the whole 'dealing with kids as a kid when I'm really not a kid' thing that made me not want to go to school until I was older. Even then teenagers could be little bitches – I should know, I was one before I became Nagi.

"I really think you'll be okay, Nagi-chan. I really do. You're a strong little girl – the strongest seven year old I know."

I halfheartedly scribbled down answers on my worksheet, pouting as I did. "Whatever you say, Matsu-sensei."

 **.x.X.x.**

Starting at a public school for the first time (in this life) when one is eight-going-on-nine years old isn't very fun. Especially when it's the middle of the year. It's the age at which kids really start trying to be the so-called 'top dogs' and where girls start to get just a bit more petty. Add into that my natural disposition of a faint blush and baby-doll eyes and you get kids who think I'm easy pickings because I 'look scared'.

"Nagi-chan," Kaori was an audacious little girl with very cutesy clothes and a will with the strength of iron bars. "I'm still hungry, so give me your snack."

I blinked. "Uh. No."

Kaori puffed up, her eyes crinkling. "If you don't I'll say you hit me."

 _Oh, bitch,_ _ **please**_ _._

"Alright." My tiny chair squeaked as I stood up and Kaori made a show of getting her eyes to water. "If you wanna tell on me for something, then I should do what you tell on me for, right?"

And as she wailed, my tiny hand smacked her clear across the face. Said action stunned her for a moment, and everyone in the room seemed to just stop – and then, as Kaori lunged for me everything moved almost as if in fast-forward. Hair was pulled, arms were bitten, and other kids were yelling. But there was no way I was letting some little brat beat me or bully me. Besides, it was worth it to have the other kids clear a nice radius around me and for me to not be a target for misfortune anymore despite my wide-eyed look (because there were few doubts in my mind that they were scared of me now, at least a little bit). Regardless, I regretted nothing.

Even if it resulted in them calling my mother.

"Inoue Nagi!" Said woman stood, her face clearly angry and her manicured hands perched irately on her hips. "What a disgraceful way to act. Hurry and apologize for your behavior."

"Not until _she_ apologizes." Screw being an adult in mind – it was too hard to control the strong emotions of a child, and I had always been confrontational before. "She started it."

Mother clicked her tongue. "Oh, I doubt that."

"I apologize for this child's behavior." Mother's bracelet jangled loudly on her wrist. "I assure you I do not condone this sort of behavior."

"Yes, well, Kaori-chan will be properly punished as well." Kaori's mother had a kind smile. "She knows better. Children do make mistakes though."

A noncommittal hum was mother's only response – but I knew it well enough to know she was all but brushing the other woman off. If something or someone didn't meet her standards, mother wasn't inclined to be kind or generous about it, even if that someone was her daughter and a mere child. And for some odd reason, I felt as if I was missing something regarding her and myself.

 **.x.X.x.**

Proper punishment in mother's opinion – for the earlier incident involving my fight at school – was to be locked in my room with no dinner and none of my toys. Not that I had any of those aside from my toddler toys – some letter blocks, a few Barbies, and several stuffed animals. All in all it was the lack of food that was the worst part of it – but I knew I'd do the exact same thing again despite knowing I'd end up dinner-less.

"Look at me." I flopped back on my bed, my hair splaying out and frizzing with a bit of static. "Beatin' up little kids. But…she was a bully."

Did that even my actions out? Was standing up to bullies the way I was going to try and make amends for the times I had bullied – but intentionally and unintentionally?

My eyelids fluttered, too heavy to stay open much longer. A nap really didn't seem like a very bad idea right now either – not like I could do much else anyways. The lethargy numbed my limbs and my nose twitched before my consciousness faded away –

 _Echoing, eerie footsteps – flashes of a dank hallway._

 _A boy – angry, scared blue eyes._

 _A table, like from the Frankenstein movies._

 _Then,_ _ **sCReAMinG**_ _–_

I choked, before heaving a dry breath, strands of hair plastered to my face and neck only making the cold feeling of sweat on my skin more pronounced. It took me a moment to realize my fingers were tightly wound into my bedsheets, leaving an awkward, rough feeling against my fingertips.

"W-what kind of dream…" I relaxed my hands and fell back, my breathing still loud, but not rushed. "T-that boy though…"

My eyes squeezed shut, my brown furrowed. My memory of that dream – no, nightmare? Maybe? – blurry and faded. I could remember his eyes though – blue, very angry and very scared. His hair, it had been blue too, but a different shade, a blue-violet. A slim face and for some reason I could see him with a sly smile –

' _Kufufu.'_

It was a cool, slick sort of feeling that left me feeling a bit drained. That sound – that _laugh_ – left me feeling even more so. And when I opened my eyes I felt like _I_ had been slapped in the face. Because _he_ was standing there, not speaking nor blinking – just a solid image of a boy with blue eyes and blue hair with an odd, spiked crown. One blue eye blurred, coming back into focus red, _red_ , _**red**_ -

"Not real." My voice was weak and breathy, my hands hovering uncertainly in the air in front of me. "He's not really here."

And he wasn't – he faded, first into mist, and then into nothing. But even if he wasn't here – he was _here_ , in this world. He was here and I was a dumbass because I hadn't noticed _who_ exactly I was once in these last almost-nine years. This wasn't just Japan – this was the Japan from the world of Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

And that boy wasn't just a boy.

He was **Rokudo Mukuro**.

And I wasn't just some girl.

I was **Nagi**.

And I wasn't just _Nagi_.

I was _**Dokuro Chrome**_.

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _._

 _Many a person often wonders "Who am I?" at some point in their life. And despite what others say, the only person who can really answer that question is the person who asked it._

 **.x.X.x.**

" _Once upon a time, an angel lay dying in the mist._ __

 _And a devil knelt over him and smiled."_  
 **―** **Laini Taylor** **,** _ **Daughter of Smoke & Bone**_


	2. Chapter One

**.x.X.x.**

 _ **Into the Mist**_

 _ **Ch. 1**_

 **.x.X.x.**

Dokuro Chrome – Nagi ( _Inoue_ Nagi) – was a young girl that almost died from being hit by a car while trying to save a kitten. Which was something that I was not interested in repeating in the slightest, thank you very much. As sad as it was to see an animal get hit by a car, it was better than being left half-dead (even if Mukuro saved me with illusionary organs – emphasis on the _if_ ). To tie myself to that boy while he was still such a little shit was not appealing. His ideals were, while understandable, very skewed. Plus, it should by all means be easy enough to avoid even _seeing_ the accident – hopefully. And then there was _that_ , too.

That dream I had – it was definitely a piece of a memory from Mukuro in the Estraneo compound. Which meant that, yes, our minds did seem to be connected somehow – and I didn't quite know how to feel about that at this point. There had been plenty of theories about Chrome and Mukuro's mindscapes being connected – and it seemed they might not be too far off, though the question now was more of _why_ they're connected. Because it wasn't even a for-sure thing that anything would come of said connection if I didn't hit the edge of death, and if I didn't meet Mukuro, did that mean I'd be free from the plot of Katekyo Hitman Reborn? Did I _want_ to be uninvolved? What role would I even play, if not Mukuro's Puppet? And what would I _gain_?

Not once had I even had to give serious thought to joining a life of crime (because despite what is shown to us, Tsuna inherits a _mafia_ family). I'd been a bitch and a stuck-up little teen before, but I had always shied away from doing things that people considered _bad_. But Tsuna wasn't a bad kid – none of his Guardians bad either (it would be different with him – the mafia – wouldn't it?). So did I want to keep my nose firmly out of that life? Could I?

(You could be a hero.)

An utterly nocuous whisper hissed in the back of my head.

(Show them how great you are. Show them - )

I swore in English, eyes and fists clenched shut as I shook the wholly selfish thoughts from my head. My fluctuating emotions had me twitchy and somewhat breathless as I watched little flickers of molten indigo flames dance across my fingertips before fading away.

My flames. My _Dying Will Flames_.

I'd been messing around with my mist flames since the night of my revelation – and that had probably put me on _someone's_ radar by this point, I'd imagine. I hoped it hadn't, but something had to occur either due to my presence as Nagi or due to my flame manipulation – a butterfly flapping it's wings, a ripple in a pond; things like that. There was also the irrevocable fact that I had already died once – reincarnated once – and that just seemed like something that might bond Mukuro and I closer than Chrome-the-Original and he might have been before; mind-wise, at least. Then again with a mother like that woman, Nagi might have discovered illusions early too. If she had it hadn't seemed to have affected her, unless –

"Nagi! Nagi, where are you child?"

I clicked my tongue before pressing myself against the wall and letting reality warp around me, just a bit.

 _Disappear – please, make me invisible. Don't let her see me._

"Where is that damned child at now?" My 'mother' paused in the middle of the hall, her pretty face in a scowl. "We have guests coming! Nagi! _Nagi_!

"Oh, I know you can hear me, child." She pursed her lips, eyes peering around the hall and always skimming over me. "Just go to your room, would you? And stay there – and _study_."

She stalked of, heels clacking sharply against the stone floors as I slowly became visible. It made me want to laugh, loudly and sarcastically – her whole personality, that is. Mother – Wakahisa Kana, formerly Inoue Kana – was a horrible woman who only wanted things in her possession that were useful to her, like my step-father's money. She'd pretty much given up on me the moment I had a hard time learning to speak and write properly, and the only way she would possibly reconsider me was if I turned out smart – which I was, but I wasn't going to give that woman _anything_.

And I wouldn't be going straight to my room – fuck that. If I did I wouldn't get a proper dinner (at least not at the correct time; I could sneak out under the cover of illusions and get food at any time – id gotten good enough at making myself disappear for that). Going to the kitchens now was my best bet – plus, doing so meant I could have some fun.

"This quite the lovely home you have here." The visitors were an older couple – probably people somehow related to Nobuo's business. "Old homes like this are quite beautiful."

"Aren't they just?" Kana's smile was beautiful itself – fake, but beautiful. Like a picture frame coving a hole in a wall. "There's just something so classy about old houses, right, dear?"

"Yes, yes." Nobuo played along half-heartedly, not very interested in 'house talk.'

At my side my fingers twitched and I sighed, low and light. My brows pinched together as I focused, the energy in me swirling laconically – a cool, syrupy sort of feeling to it. Sharp intakes of breath hit my ears and my eyes flashed open, my mind still focused, to see shadows dart across the back wall with the curtain ruffling as if catching wind behind them.

After all, what was an old house without some ghosts?

"Oh, someone must have left a window open." Kana tittered softly, her eyes darting in a nervous sort of way. "Why don't we just move on to the dining room, now?"

The older woman started a bit, some ways down the hall, her voice genuinely curious. "Wakahisa-san, don't you have a daughter? Will she be joining us too? I would love to meet your darling girl."

Kana's smile became the teensiest bit strained. "Oh, I'm afraid not. She's not feeling too well, so she's staying in her room, the poor thing."

And at that another mysterious wind blew through the hall, lifting Kana's skirt up into the air.

 **.x.X.x.**

Sadly, my experimenting with my mist flames was something that I had to do more sparingly that I wished – and, probably, away from home. Our new maid – a perky young woman named Kazunari Tomoko – was extremely sensitive to flames, it seemed. I had run into her one day after having used my mist flames to trick mother into walking into a column, just outside of the hall where it had happened, and Tomoko had been twitchy, wringing her hands.

Apparently she had 'felt an apparition, in all its coldness, rush over her.' It was an odd thing to hear, and I had been momentarily confused. Later that day I had just taken off the illusions that were cloaking my presence when I saw her again, and once again she claimed to have felt the cold chill of an apparition. It was easy to connect the dots to my illusions after that, and it was a _pain_.

The girl was also just a pain in general, if I was being honest. Tomoko was the type of sweet that made teeth hurt, and she was far too doting for my liking. Especially considering she wasn't my mother – though I did like her a great more than I liked _Kana_. Garret – or Wei Garret, our Chinese-American cook, seemed amused by my misfortune with the woman.

"You have the same round type of face, ya know." Garret smirked lopsidedly as he slid a glass of apple juice towards me. "Bet it makes her extra fond of you, that. And them big doe eyes, too. Women go nuts for those."

"Shut up." My voice sounded muffled, as I had spoken partially into my cup. "How would you like it if she was trying to cuddle _you_ and pinch _your_ cheeks?"

Garret guffawed, his shaggy black hair momentarily obscuring his eyes. "Darlin' if that face right there doesn't sweeten up, that apple juice is gonna turn sour."

"Yes well, it's pretty sour as is, so our chef needs to step up his game."

"Ehh? What's that?" Before I could really react, Garret had me in a headlock, his hand mussing my hair so much I was _sure_ it was going to be tangled. "Did I hear you say 'Garret-sama is the best cook, and he deserves a raise' huh? Is that what you said?"

"Ah, no! The little missus' hair!" Garret froze almost instantly, startled. "It's all mussed up. It must be all knotted now."

Garret's smile was kind and sheepish. "Sorry, Kazunari-san. Just having some fun with the little miss. She was pouting, poor thing."

Her hands were cradling my cheeks in an instant and I wanted to smack that amused grin off of his face. "Has something made the sweet little miss sad?"

As she loosed her hold on my face I rubbed my cheeks, eyeing the Chinese-American before hiding my own smile. With a deep breath I prepared myself before looking up, my eyes shimmering and my lower lip jutted out (in the background Garret silently swore).

"Neh, neh, Tomo-chan," I tugged on her sleeve for that extra bit of cuteness. "Gary-chan promised me homemade dango, but he doesn't remember the ingredients. Will Tomo-chan help Gary-chan?"

"Oh, yes, of course Missus Nagi! I need to go out and pick up some laundry supplies anyways!" Tomoko clapped rather enthusiastically, turning her shimmering green eyes onto a weakly smiling Garret. "Let's go, yes? It might take a while to get everything, so we should leave now!"

And as Tomoko all but dragged the young man off, I met Garret's eyes just before they rounded a corner. He lifted his hands, pointed to himself and then to me in the universal 'I'm watching you now' gesture. It was also, in the language of Garret, the 'payback's gonna be a bitch' signal.

"Score: Nagi-chan, One." I chirped before twirling around, an illusionary cloak covering me just before mother came into sight. "Garret, Zero."

 **.x.X.x.**

It was a surprisingly common occurrence – me somehow ripping my clothes, that is. I wasn't a gentle, demure child by any means – hell, I'd gotten into a fight with that Kaori girl my first day of real school in this life. The fact that my tough, tomboy attitude only further annoyed mother dearest was a big bonus, because it didn't require the slightest bit of effort. My clothes ripping though, was a bit of a shame.

They were nice clothes after all – but flowy skirts were not ideal for a rambunctious child like myself. In fact, I was sure mother would never buy me new clothes if she didn't think letting me run around in my patched up, worn clothes in public would reflect badly upon her.

"Really, Missus Nagi," Tomoko wasn't really put off with me anymore at this point, when I ripped clothes. "The way you go through clothes…."

"Well, Tomoko-san, if mother got me sturdier clothes this wouldn't be a problem, you know?" My legs kicked, my heels thumping rhythmically against the wall of the window seat. "Plus, I know Tomoko-san will be here to fix everything."

She flushed rather prettily at that, cheerily going about her sewing (a button-up shirt of mine that had caught on a rosebush). "I'm very happy that Missus Nagi trusts me. I'm always very happy to help you out."

I hesitated for a moment before ducking my head in my shoulders and peeking up –

"Then… could Tomoko-san help Nagi-chan by getting her some sturdier clothes? Some pants and normal shirts?"

Tomoko paused, momentarily going rigid in surprise. Her own doe-like eyes a bit wary, "I don't know about that…"

"Please? Tomoko-san? Nagi-chan promises not to tell, and to avoid wearing them where mother can see!"

"O-oh… well, I suppose…"

Without really thinking, I jumped forward to wrap my arms around her middle – "Thank you so much!"

 **.x.X.x.**

Meditating was much harder than it sounded – _much_ harder. My mind seemed to run on and on with the power of a freight train, and no matter what I couldn't clear my head like what was needed to really meditate. Ultimately, I pondered whether or not that was because of the sheer imagination Mist users needed to employ, which seemed a plausible thought in and of itself. But something like that couldn't – and wouldn't – stop me from my ultimate goal: working with said mist flames. Later in the evenings was always the best time – since Tomoko often finished up early and dozing off.

It was a cold sort of feeling every time I drew upon the power of my flames – instead if the initial syrupy feel from the beginning, it had become a cold, damp yet strangely soft feeling that really did remind me of mist. And it felt somewhat foreign, though each time I drew upon it, it became less and less so. It was surprising how _easy_ mist flames were, though, despite how trying meditation was. Perhaps it was connected to the whole "I died once" thing, or maybe it was just how mist flames were.

Dangerous.

Mist flames, from what I knew, could be all consuming. Without the proper handle on them one could doubtlessly drown themselves in their own illusions (both literally and figuratively). They required a strong mind, for one, and an adaptable mind. (People had scoffed at Chrome – now _I_ scoff at _them_.) Meditation helped with the fortifying and clearing of the mind – which I needed at this point.

Leaning back just a bit while in my cross-legged position I sucked in a deep breath and –

"Lookie here!"

My spine snapped straight, my eyes went wide, and a strangled hiss-choke-squeak of surprise eked past my lips. Behind me Garret erupted in uproarious laughter – only possible since mother and Nobuo were in a room upstairs, and unlikely to be woken. Much good that did for my heart, though.

"That makes it what? Oh, yes: Nagi: One; Garret: One." His larger hand plopped down gently to ruffle my hair. "What're you doing out in the backyard so late, kid? You should be upstairs, sleeping."

I stuck my tongue out, swatting away his hand as I pushed to my feet – the grass cool and slick on my soles. "Shouldn't _you_ be asleep?"

"Had to make a late-night pit stop, darling." The door clicked shut behind us, the lock clicking into place after. "Saw a figure through the window. It's dangerous, you know, being out late like that."

"Yeah, yeah."

He snorted before rubbing a hand over his face. "Now get to sleep, would ya? Tomorrow's an important day."

 **.x.X.x.**

 _There was a woman, young and pretty with deep blue hair and soft blue eyes with a beauty mark in the corner of the left one. She was peering over the bars of a crib, her fingers in the grasp of a toddler's small hands._

 _Happiness. Love._

 _Now there was a man – two men – wearing white coats and teal gloves, their faces covered by surgical masks. Below them, a child on a table – cold and hard, like looks in the doctors' eyes._

 _Pain. Anger._ _ **Hate**_ _._

 **.x.X.x.**

My breath came in long, deep gasps – strands of my hair plastered to my face and neck thanks to the cold sweat left on my skin. It was an unpleasant sort of feeling, but the moments I glimpsed of Mukuro's time with the Estraneo were _worse_. And that woman – his mother, undoubtedly – was a different sort of memory; if I had to guess, I'd say she died before all of the experimenting began. In she hadn't, and was letting it go on, I couldn't see Mukuro ever associating her with feelings of happiness.

"But really." I resisted the urge to curl my toes at the feel of the cold floor. "Why do I have to see any of this? Why _am_ I?"

Was it _really_ because the two of us had connected mindscapes? It made me wonder if he was even aware that these memories were slipping through to anyone – I doubted he did. Mukuro wasn't the type to share things like this, not _ever_. But it really did serve to soften my heart to him, despite what a little ass he was at times.

If he came to me for help in the future (or to 'help me') would I help him? Let him 'help me'? It was a possibility. Mukuro wasn't bad after all – he eventually got over his whole 'destroy the mafia' thing, even if he would never fully admit it (to his dying breath it was always 'Sawada Tsunayoshi is my target and nothing else.' Not like he ever helped him or grew fond of others, oh, _no_ ).

"Muku-chi," I muttered as my hands worked a towel to dry my hair. "It seems you might have already wormed your way into my heart."

I paused, just before my hand grasped the doorknob. For a moment I could have sworn I had heard a rustling sound – but that was unlikely; Tomoko would have announced her presence and my parents would _never_ come to my room. With a sigh I moved forward and –

" **SURPRISE!** "

My heart skipped a beat and I felt my face form that classic surprised look – eyes big and wide, mouth in a dainty little 'o'. Both Garret and Tomoko were smiling, holding out a cake with a candle of the number nine lit in the middle. And, to my horror, I felt my eyes begin to water. I hadn't even remembered that it was my birthday today, and those two weren't even _family_.

"Why are – why all of this?"

"Well, Wei-san said your parents would be gone today." Tomoko's tone was soft, almost embarrassed. "And every child needs a good birthday cake, yes?"

Garret only laughed before gently ruffling my damp hair. "Don't I do something every year, kid? Last year a platter of cookies, the year before that the cupcake?"

Upon trying to blow out the candle, it kept flickering back to life – a trick of Garret's, no doubt; probably one of those trick candles. As payback for said faulty candle, I found myself smearing a pretty white streak of frosting across the young man's face. For her laughter, Tomoko got much of the same, and for being the original perpetrator I got a whole _piece_ of cake shoved in my face.

"Garret, I have _cake in my nose_."

His laugh was boisterous, the kind that caused ones face so scrunch up and eyes squeeze shut, leaving a big lopsided grin in its wake. "Yeah, well, my hair isn't naturally white, now is it?"

"Well, not _yet_."

I squealed, his hand in the process of giving me a noogie. "You little _shit_."

"Wei-san! You shouldn't curse around the little miss! W-Wei-san!"

No, they weren't family by blood.

But…

They are family.

 **.**

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 _They say that blood is thicker than water, but sometimes that isn't very true. Someone with no biological relation can be the person that someone loves the most – someone they can call family. It's the bonds of love that matter, not the blonds of blood._

 **.x.X.x.**


	3. Chapter Two

**It's...been a long time. But. I'm getting back into the swing of things.**

 **.x.X.x.**

 _ **Into the Mist**_

 _ **Ch. 2**_

 **.x.X.x.**

The previous incident that involved my fighting and beating (because I _won_ that fight) Kaori had spread throughout what seemed to be the whole elementary school – and to the parents, if the wary looks I sometimes got said anything. It irked mother to no end, and I had regretted it a bit, but had gotten over it quickly. Not having friends was something I was all that worried about – I'd never been all too social in the first place, and I had always been a bit awkward around kids.

But darn it, Kaori apparently had a cousin – an older cousin that was ten going on eleven who apparently had no qualms in confronting a diminutive nine year old girl; though she was also a girl, which evened out my odds, thankfully. _Months_ after the initial fight, might I add.

"You hurt my little cousin, huh?" She had a mean sneer, this kid. "You're so small. I could _crush_ you."

"Mn, yeah. A little girl." I was tensed, ready to dart out of the way – but also ready to (hopefully) put up an illusion that would be enough to distract the kid. "So scary, you are, nee-chan."

Her face flushed at that, the anger going to her head. "You little _brat_!"

She threw herself forward, fist lashing out as I ducked to the side. With a hard furrow of my brows and a deep breath she stumbled, off balance at what was likely little more than a sudden blur running almost right into her face. I threw my full weight into her, sending her face first into the ground before jumping and planting my knees into her back and pulling both of her arms back.

"You gonna leave me alone now?" I huffed, tired (shamefully) from the exertion. "You and Kaori? 'Cause I want nothing to do with you guys."

And then Kaori burst back into the room, red faced and with a teacher. A reflexive English swear escaped me – Kaori had probably ran off the moment I'd been able to dodge, too nervous to wait. And boy, did sensei look angry.

"Inoue Nagi! Get off of her this instant!" Sensei was flushed, hands clenched.

I acquiesced with no arguments – there were none I could really make, anyways.

"What is the meaning of this?" Her sharp eyes focused on me as she helped the sniffling ten year old. "Only halfway into the year and _two fights_?"

"Hara-sensei," I frowned, lip sticking out cutely (I hoped). "I didn't start this fight."

She shook her head. "You say that, but Ama-chan has never gotten in trouble – for what reason would _she_ have started it?"

"But sensei, why would _I_?"

But Hara-sensei wasn't having it – not that I was all that surprised. Exasperated? Yes. Surprised? No. Vaguely I wondered if Other-Nagi had had these problems, the answer of which was probably yes-but-no. Because _she_ had been a pushover and I was not. She wouldn't have fought Kaori that day, but I was to prideful to give in to the pushy whims of selfish children. If that meant getting in trouble for protecting myself, then I'd do it.

Even if mother's angry sneer was something that was always unpleasant to behold. I could only imagine how incensed she would be if she ever realized that I always got food every time she sent me to my room with orders of no dinner.

It would probably be pretty damn beautiful.

 **.x.X.x.**

Mother was very beautiful – slender and curvy with plump lips, shimmering hair, and sharp eyes. But beauty like that is only skin deep, and can only conceal the hideousness on the inside. It made me thankful that I didn't look much like her – she was thankful too, I'm sure. My eye color may have been mother's, but the rest of it was from my father – my pale skin and my deep purple hair (my favorite thing about my appearance; oddly colored hair was a novelty).

"Nagi!" Amethyst eyes like my own glared down, making them more like chips of dyed ice rather than pretty gems. "What's with these grades you're bringing home, hmm?"

I peered up at her, making sure to blink in the most innocent way I could (as my large, naturally innocent eyes rather disconcerted her as it was), "My grades? I'm passing. I have good grades."

" _Low As_. That is _average_." Her deceptively pretty lips curled downwards. "And you _fight_. If you're going to be such an uncouth child, the least you could do is excel in _academics_."

That, I could undoubtedly do. But would I? For her? Not a chance in hell. Anything that would please this woman was something that I didn't want to do – a matter of principle, I suppose. Why she thought I cared about what she might want was also something I didn't quite understand, as one would think that she'd have figured out I didn't care by this point.

"I think things are fine as they are."

She snarled – somehow still pretty with such an ugly expression on her face – before strutting off. "You are turning out more and more like that horrid father of yours."

At that I started. My father, her first husband, was someone I didn't know much about at all. Sure, I had a few pictures (including a couple of him holding me) but that was it – all I knew about the man was from a small, sparse photo album I kept stashed under my bed, lest mother do something to or with it. And it showed even more of mother's despicable character too – because she was with him, had married him, when it seemed very much to me like she had disliked his character. Money was the main factor, if I had to guess.

But really, what was my father like? I wish I knew – not knowing was like missing a piece of the puzzle that made up me, in a way.

 **.x.X.x.**

"Kid, you're a bit of a scrapper, aren't ya?" Garret had a cigarette hanging from his lips as he leant against the wall by the backdoor.

"I've only been in two fights – _two_." I yanked viciously at the grass, the nutty, green smell prevalent. "And neither was my fault, you know."

He snorted, crushing the cigarette in his ashtray (as neither of his employers wanted smoking to be happening at the house – but he always did it when neither were home) before coming to stand next to me. "Good thing you didn't lose either – it'd be a shame if you had."

I grumbled quietly, depositing handfuls of pulled grass on his shoes. "I was so out of breath though. My stamina _sucks_."

Garret kicked up suddenly, leaving me jerking to the side in surprise as the grass on his shoe rained down. The look on my face, I'm sure, was completely disgusted, as some of the dirt laden grass had gotten in my mouth along with the bits that had stuck in my hair. Garret, though, only laughed –

"You want to build stamina? Go run. I have a couple hours until I need to start cooking. Get your tail in gear and let's go to the park, darlin'."

"Wait, are you serious?" I pushed myself up and nearly tripped over myself following him to the back door. "You're going to go running with me?"

He laughed, loud and coarse. "Oh, I ain't runnin'. I'm the motivation and the chaperone. Now go get those contraband clothes of yours on."

I shook my head, getting rid of the stray grass, and paused – "Why…Why are you doing this for me?"

Garret pushed his hand into his hair, sending me a rather dashing look over his shoulder, a lopsided grin on his face and a little spark of something I couldn't quite identify in his eyes –

"Because you deserve it, kid. You deserve trips to the park and a whole lot more. Even if you just want to run around instead of playing."

 **.x.X.x.**

My legs and lungs had ached for a good few hours every morning for a little over a week now – the result of my running trips to the park. And, let me tell you, for a cook who claimed he wanted me to have a good childhood, he was a _Spartan_. Apparently my running form had been off, and I'd bobbled too much – plus I didn't breathe right (things Garret took upon himself to fix).

"Pain is gain, right kid?" The soft sizzle of food in a skillet wound through his words and the savory smell of breakfast wafted through the air. "Man, I haven't coached anyone like that in forever."

"Yes, and you seem to enjoy my suffering." Currently I was nursing a bottle of water – the best cure for cramping muscles. "I thought you had said you were just going to _chaperone_ that first day."

Garret set down a plate of breakfast hash with a light click, grinning the whole time. "I also said _motivation_."

The clacking of hard soled shoes announced the arrival of Tomoko, who was as cheery as ever. "Oh, is the little missus eating with us again today?"

It had started about a week ago, me retreating to the kitchen to eat most of my meals. At first Tomoko had tried pushing and urging me to go eat with my mother and Nobuo, but that had failed spectacularly. Her ushering had also given Tomoko her first taste of 'Kana dislikes her worthless daughter' which had mellowed and saddened the cheerful young woman. Suffice it to say that Tomoko had stopped urging so fiercely, but she did subtly nudge me at times (like the mother-daughter relationship could be fixed; please, it hadn't even existed in the first place).

"Food tastes better when in non-hostile conditions." I supplied before stuffing a bit of food into my mouth (a rather large bite that had my cheeks bulging, just a bit; a bad habit from long ago).

"I wouldn't say hostile…" Tomoko swayed a bit before accepting her own plate and sitting down. "…Thank you, Wei-san."

Garret sat down with a bit of a thunk, the chair legs having bounced a bit with him sitting so roughly. "Hostile? More frigid, I'd say. But it's nice and warm in here, right, darlin'?"

 **.x.X.x.**

Tomoko had finally taken it upon herself to teach me how to sew – despite how disinterested I really was in it. According to her it was a good technique to have in my arsenal, what with how often I seemed to be tearing clothes up. I couldn't argue with that, but it still wasn't something overly interesting to me in the long run.

 _Inoue Nagi, the fiercest seamstress in the mafia._

I snorted – the mental image was too silly and out there not to. Then again an assassin armed with sewing needles and thread (wires, maybe?) could be deceptively dangerous. And – errant thought, but... needlework could possibly translate to stitching up wounds, couldn't it? At least, theoretically?

"Little miss?" Tomoko patted my arm gently, as I had gone still, lost in thought. "Have I lost you, missus Nagi?"

She wasn't angry or really all that put out it seemed, which I was thankful for. She could be overbearing, but Tomoko was sweet all the same. It was almost as if she was my mother-figure instead of my actual mother – no, that didn't seem right; sister-figure fit much better. Even if I had been getting so, so antsy lately from not using my mist flames because of her sensitivity (she'd been staying up later, working on something).

"Sorry, Tomoko-san. I had a silly thought." My smile was sheepish, I was sure. "Sewing ninjas, you know? Kind of fun to think about."

Her laugh was the complete opposite of Garret's – light, tinkling, and almost breathy.

"Yes, seems like it might be funny. But I think –" she paused for a moment as I tried to force back a yawn. "– that someone needs to rest up now."

 **.x.X.x.**

Waking up in the middle of the night seemed to be a frequent occurrence for me, for whatever reason. Two or three times a week I would wake up, anywhere from eleven to one in the morning, with the urge for either a little snack or to just sit out back and _think_. It was odd, and a bit inconvenient, as I was always a bit more tired the following day – but things could be worse than that, so I didn't like dwelling on it. Though Tomoko had woken up one of those nights and had nearly shrieked, as I had been cloaked from sight with the illusions she was sensitive to.

"Why's she so sensitive 'nyways." My voice was muffled, partially due to sleepiness and partly due to the spoon of ice cream stuck in my mouth. "Oh well. Must jus' be my luck."

"Mine too."

Choking was always unpleasant – it was also what I was now doing. My spoon clattered noisily on the counter as I heaved and tried to get my breathing right again, Garret ignoring me in favor of getting his own small bowl of ice cream.

"I'd forgotten about this ice cream, to be perfectly honest." He held his spoon up after taking a bite. "Homemade is _so_ much better though."

"W-what are you…?" I shook my head, my pretty purple hair tickling my chin and neck. "You scared the crap out of me, Garret!"

He leered at me, tilting his hand to point at me with his spoon –

"Like how you scare Kazunari? You little apparition."

And without saying anything else he went back to eating his ice cream. I, on the other hand, felt as cold as the frozen treat. This was basically him flat-out telling me he knew about my ability to make illusions, wasn't it? It had to be – but what did that mean for me now? How was he so calm about it? _How did he even know?_

"Darlin', I might not be sensitive like Kazunari is, but I know how to spot an amateur illusion." He sniggered a bit at what was probably an affronted look on my face. "You're actually pretty good for a kid, you know?"

"H-How long?" My eyes were probably wide, enough to rival an owl's at this point. "And why are you so nonchalant about it?"

"I've known almost since you've started messing around with 'em, darlin'." Garret cleared both his and my (since I was just. So. Done.) utensils. "And because I've seen this stuff before – hell, I can do some pretty cool stuff too, ya know?"

At that he held up a hand, a cheeky grin on his face as little green sparks signifying lightning flames came to life, arcing from finger to finger. And I wanted to both scream and bombard him with questions – because those were undoubtedly _dying will flames_. And if he could use them, and identify them – he had to have some kind of underworld connection. But asking him something like that would be suspicious – plus I'd never get an answer, what with _omerta_. Then again, hadn't there been some rule about educating Flame users?

I let out a deep breath, still a bit awed. "Why're you telling me though?"

"Well, with how you've been getting'…" Garret smirked, leant back in his chair and crossed his arms. "…I figure you'll be getting into even more trouble. And you'll need someone to talk to, won't cha?"

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 _They say to expect the unexpected, but things are unexpected for a reason, aren't they? Perhaps it would be more prudent to say 'Brace for the unexpected so you can endure it.'_

 **.x.X.x.**

 **I thought the update this week was going to be for Guadagnare (which I am working on currently!), but I ended up being in a Chrome mood.**

 **Thank you, to anyone who has stuck around.**


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